


Live for Today

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon rescued Maedhros, but they ended up living in different places. Why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live for Today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ansileran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansileran/gifts).



> Written as a last-minute fill-in for the 2014 AinA for Ansileran. The request went out roughly 24 hours before the opening of the archive, so I know there's another person who wrote for this prompt as well. Hope you enjoy this one (and the other one), Ansileran!
> 
> Special thanks to the super awesome talented Nuinzilien for her magical quick beta powers! *big hugs*

There was little in the small room of the hastily built fortress occupied by the Feanorians, but every single object within shuddered as Fingon slammed the door upon entering without a single knock. That included the bed that Maedhros was reclining in, staring at the ceiling even after his privacy was intruded upon. “Care to explain this bullshit?” Fingon flung the scroll he had with him across the room. It landed on Maedhros’ stomach and rolled off to the floor.

“I knew no matter how I told you, it would not go well.” Maedhros arched his back in order to stretch his left arm in such a way to scratch at an itch upon the shoulder on the same side. The horrors of Thangorodrim were still fresh in his mind despite the time that had passed. Few of his wounds remained unhealed, and the worst of them was all too evident. He regarded his bandaged wrist for a moment before he looked beyond it to where Fingon was still standing, halfway between the bed and the door. “It could be worse.”

“Worse? Not unless there is an addendum that praises the deeds of your father and declares his death a yearly day of mourning.” Fingon stepped forward to retrieve the document. “Whose idea was this contract, anyhow?” he asked as he shook it at Maedhros’ nose.

“If it is in writing, it will be clear to all parties involved.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like something my father would say.”

“Close enough.” Maedhros pulled a folded blanket from the end of the bed, shook it out, and wrapped it around his shoulders like a shawl. “It was your brother’s idea that there should be a contract, but your father immediately agreed with it.”

Already, Fingon was unrolling the document, his gaze flicking here and there until he found what he sought. “And was this Turukáno’s idea as well? To split everyone up and send them to the four corners of this terrible place?”

“It was not your brother who suggested what should be in it,” answered Maedhros quietly. He adjusted the blanket as well as he could.

“Then which of yours? Tyelkormo? Curufinwë? Dammit, Maitimo, I spent years without you, I am not about to have someone dictate some bullshit rule on where you are living and where I am living!” Fingon threw the scroll down onto Maedhros again. “I doubt it was my sister, and I have no brother now other than Turukáno,” he reminded Maedhros bitterly.

Maedhros bowed his head. “You are not the only one who has suffered losses in all of this.”

Fingon blinked as he stared down at Maedhros. “So, what is one more? Is that it? Are you giving up?”

With his maimed arm, Maedhros motioned to the contract that was resting on his thigh. “I think that is obvious.”

“I meant us. Are you giving up on us?” 

Over the next minute, Maedhros said nothing. He adjusted his pillow, which led to the blanket slipping away from his shoulders. Fingon knew enough at this point not to leap in to help. That was something that Maedhros had been adamant about the moment he had enough strength to struggle through everyday activities, and had emphasized his need to be self-sufficient when Maglor arrived on the third day of his recovery with a tray of food, everything pre-cut into bite-sized pieces. The tray had ended up on the floor.

Fingon crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as Maedhros remained silent. “I never gave up on you. I never gave up on finding you, and I hoped and prayed I could find a way to bring you back.” Fingon took a step back and further scrutinized Maedhros. “Did you write that stipulation into the contract?”

“Yes, Fin,” snapped Maedhros, showing emotion for the first time since Fingon entered. “I thought I would just find a way to get away from you. I grew quite fond of the solitude, and I thought we could both benefit from a continuation of it.”

Fingon took a deep breath. His fingers, moments ago balled into fists, uncurled slowly. “If not you, then who?”

Maedhros appeared as if he might look away for a moment, but he wearily answered, “Your father.”

Again, Fingon looked down at the scroll. “Fuck.” He stepped forward and reached for it, but Maedhros caught his wrist and held it fast.

“Leave it.” Maedhros knocked it to the ground with the stump of his other arm. “We spent years apart when I was in Formenos. This is not so dire; we will both be free to travel.”

“Travel. That is your solution? And we were not apart when you were in Formenos.” Fingon’s voice rose as he pulled his arm out of Maedhros’ grasp. “I came there every free moment I had, even in times when I was leaving my father with more work and stress than he deserved.”

“That is why this document needs to be.” Maedhros lunged forward and caught an arm around Fingon’s waist. In a second, he was wrestled down onto the mattress in a flurry of limbs and golden bound braids. Fingon hardly appeared shocked that Maedhros, despite the lack of a hand, managed to pin him down, one hand restraining his two. Maedhros smirked; apparently, he was the one who was surprised at his own dexterity. His countenance returned to being severely serious as he explained the situation. “I have negotiated the best I was able. I am not fit to be King, and you have seen firsthand what it has done to Makalaurë. Who is next in line? No, I will not allow Tyelkormo that opportunity, or doomed we shall be.”

The hold on Fingon loosened as Maedhros relaxed, but the brunet made no move to shift his arms from where they were previously pinned above his head. “I would have you as High King, but we both know how politics works. Your brother and sister have already stated to everyone who will listen that they have no intention of staying within the kingdom. Your father will fall without support, and my brothers need to be removed. It is not only Tyelkormo; Curufinwë and Carnistir are a danger as well. The tension is so thick that I feel it press upon me whenever I leave this room. You must stay with your father and aid him. Tyelkormo would rule, but your father can lead.” 

“You are asking me to let you go.” Fingon continued to hold Maedhros’ gaze.

Maedhros swallowed hard. “I am asking you to help me to keep all things from falling into ruin. My king. My love.” He closed the distance between them, lips gentle at first until Fingon grew more insistent and lifted his head. There had often been kisses since the miraculous return of Maedhros, but they had been the chaste sort, meant for comforting and healing. They came after nightmares and before the healers poked and prodded, and after again. Fingon may well have been one of his brothers, but now as they went beyond the friendly to the familiar, they were both reminded of better times in the West. Maedhros paused and licked his lips, and Fingon panted beneath him. “Do this for me. For us.”

Fingon drew in breath sharply. “You know I will do anything for you – but know this. I swear to you—“

“No.” Maedhros tightened his grip with fierce passion. “No more oaths. Swear nothing to me, for I can swear nothing to you. Speak only of today, for that is all we have. I can make no promises of tomorrow, nor should you.”

For a moment, it seemed that Fingon would defy Maedhros. Instead he closed his eyes and flexed his fingers. “And what are we to do, if we cannot hope for tomorrow? If forever is no more?”

“Live for today.” Maedhros turned his head and looked across the room. “Did you lock the door when you came in?”

“I may have broken the lock when I slammed it shut.” Fingon turned the tables when Maedhros attempted to get up, using his fingers to latch onto the hand that held him down. “Who would enter without first knocking?”

“My brothers.”

“Which ones?”

Maedhros snorted. “All of them.”

“Let them. It would not be the first time.”

Fingon’s words triggered something for Maedhros, who stretched and sat up. Fingon arched his back with a tired groan as muscles, usually tight with tension, now loosened and let him know how sore they were and how much he still needed to restore his own health. Maedhros reached down to move a wayward braid away from Fingon’s neck. “You realize this is going to be the first time we make love on this side of the sea.”

“Someone sounds pretty certain of that,” answered Fingon back.

Maedhros slid his legs down between his lover’s thighs so that he was kneeling over Fingon. “We can spend the day listening to laments in the key of Makalaurë instead.”

Clothing was removed with the efficiency born of too many years of living under their parents’ roofs. They had lost count of the years spent together, but the days and hours apart had always been counted and mourned. Every time it seemed right for a shared residence away from other family members, duty reared its ugly head. It was because of those times apart that their couplings had never been complete. Their unspoken decision had been to enjoy what they could, given their circumstances, and to hope for a time of uninterrupted togetherness. 

To this end, Maedhros reached for a slippery cooling salve that rested in a bowl upon the nightstand, but he prepared only himself. Below him, Fingon watched and slid his hands over smooth skin, far too stretched over Maedhros’ bony frame, far too frail for the heir of Feanor. Scars were kissed when he could reach them, until he was commanded by Maedhros: “Roll over.”

Fingon hardly disturbed his partner as he turned onto his side and then to his stomach. Before he could push up onto his hands and knees, Maedhros hoisted him to his knees, arms around Fingon’s waist. Fingon grunted but did not dispute the move. Maedhros tested the position, the length of his cock hard against the cleft of Fingon’s body. They moved against each other in rough and restless foreplay, and then Maedhros leaned around the curve of Fingon’s back and pushed him down firmly at the neck. 

A muffled groan escaped from Fingon as he turned his head against the pillows to find air. Maedhros pulled Fingon’s left arm back so that his hand brushed against his long plaits. He tapped Fingon’s right elbow, and a moment later Fingon had his fingers laced together behind his head. The golden braids were plentiful, and Maedhros used several of them to restrain Fingon’s hands, winding them around his wrists and over and under each other. It was a longer process than previous times that Maedhros had played this game with his lover, but Fingon remained quietly patient and used the time to tease Maedhros by touching him with whatever he could manage – a foot, a shoulder, and sometimes a brush of his lips to steal kisses.

There was nothing slow or gentle when Maedhros finished his work and rested his left hand upon Fingon’s hip. There were still bandages on his right wrist, and he lifted his arm to tear them off with his teeth. There was still seepage on the layer underneath. “Dammit,” he growled after he spit out the outer layer of thin linen.

No further discussion was necessary. Fingon strained to arch back against Maedhros, and upon the realization that he was not solely responsible for the thrusting and grinding they were both anxious to get to, Maedhros reached around with his left hand to take hold of Fingon’s arousal. A mix of grunts and gasps followed, with the sound of skin against skin, and dominating growls that led to a knock on the door.

Neither acknowledged it the first time. Maedhros rocked his body in time with the movements of his hand, and Fingon thrust back against him in synch. Teeth grazed Fingon’s neck, and Maedhros fought to latch onto flesh with so much hair in his way. He used his nose to clear his path, and there was a delighted and pained gasp as he bit down.

Another knock was heard, but they remained on the bed, no words exchanged with each other or the potential intruder. They increased their pace, and the mattress harkened their eventual climax. The next sound from the doorway was louder and more insistent, and it hurried them both. The recognition of their times together being little more than the space between all other interruptions built up the frenzy of their excitement. Maedhros collapsed onto Fingon’s back, utterly spent, as a voice called out from the hall. “I am not going to stop him until you come for me,” warned Maedhros. “I wonder if he is alone, or if the others are there with him,” he continued on as he stroked Fingon. His hand left only for a moment to dip into the bowl of salve. “Maybe when he finally opens the door to check on me, I will be hard again, and I will finally just fuck you right in front of him.”

Fingon squeezed his eyes shut and let out a low moan. He thrust his hips forward several times as the warm fluid spurted onto his stomach and the bed. “Good boy,” purred Maedhros into his ear before he sat up and shouted in the direction of the door, “Go away, Makalaurë!”

Maedhros lifted his hand carefully and removed himself from the bed in order to find something to clean off the evidence of their passion. Someone had been good enough to stock the room with medical supplies, and he easily found clean cloths and water. Once he took care in cleaning his hand and loins, he moved back to the bed.

“This was different,” remarked Fingon as Maedhros detangled his hands from his hair. 

“Different good or different bad?” prodded Maedhros as he guided Fingon onto his back. He cleaned up his partner as he waited for the answer.

“Different,” Fingon settled on. “Just different.”

“Different place. Different... everything. I am different, you are different...” Maedhros threw the soiled cloth across the room. “Everything is different.”

Fingon nodded his head against the pillow and beckoned Maedhros to join him. Once they were settled, Fingon kissed Maedhros upon the brow. “I never really said it, but I am sorry about your brother. And your father.”

Maedhros tightened his hold on Fingon. The sun was fading, and he was still getting used to the darkness that came with night. “I am sorry about your brother. And your sister-in-law.”

Fingon kissed Maedhros again, this time on the lips. He closed his eyes. “They are in a safer place. Maybe that is—“ He bit his lip and shook his head. “No, I shall not say it.”

“Do not think it,” added Maedhros, who sounded truly scared by his interpretation of Fingon’s unspoken words. “We will win this,” he added firmly. “We will.”

Both doubt and worry were etched upon Fingon’s face, but he nodded and embraced Maedhros tighter. “I really do not care if we ‘win’,” he admitted before they fell asleep. “I just want us to survive.”

“But the sil—“

“Fuck the silmarils.” Fingon drew the blanket over them both. “I want justice for grandfather. I want justice for our fallen family members. But above anything else, I want you. If I can have you, that is all that matters. I would go to hell and back for you, Maitimo.”

“You already did,” mumbled Maedhros after he watched Fingon fall asleep.


End file.
